


Feel

by red_scully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, Smut, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_scully/pseuds/red_scully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Sein Und Zeit.  When Scully tells Mulder that Teena killed herself, the pain is almost too much for him to bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel

He sobs and sobs, rocking back and forth, fingertips digging into her shoulders. He is hot and shaking with grief, his blood boiling in his veins, and she feels his flushed face against her neck. Her knees creak as he burrows deeper into her arms, trying to escape from the pain, and she grits her teeth. It makes her heart ache unbearably to see him this way: she wishes desperately for the power to make it stop. His sobs quieten and for several long minutes they remain wrapped up in each other, nothing but the sound of the fish tank bubbling gently in the corner to keep them grounded. She takes a long deep breath, and moves as if to separate them, but his response is immediate and almost violent in its intensity as he pulls her, somehow, into his lap, snaking his arms around and under hers, and begins to howl bitterly.

She can hardly breathe, he is holding her so tightly: her face is crushed against his shoulder, the edge of his shirt sharply cutting into her lips. She can smell the sweat on his skin. The noises emanating from his throat are harshly animalistic, and all of sudden, it strikes her that something dangerous is building between them: he is panting as his tears slow once more, but he is still holding her and she is somehow deep in his lap, her legs dangling on either side of the chair, and she can't possibly ignore the fact that he is suddenly aroused beneath her, nor that she desperately wants to grind down into him. She turns her face as much as she can and somehow, manages to force out his name... but the rest of whatever sentence she intended to speak has slipped away.

He shudders, turns his face and then his tongue is in her mouth, invading without warning or invitation, hot and sweet and frantic. Her head spins for several long seconds, then she pulls back and gasps in a breath of air, opening her eyes, but all she sees are big hazel eyes and a tear-streaked face and then he is devouring her again, rumbling deeply into her throat, one hand suddenly releasing its grip on her back, only to dive under the waistband of her pants.

And then he is on his feet and carrying her, she has no idea how, to his bedroom, and then she is on her back and he is on her, pinning her to the bed with his hot heavy body, kissing her, and although she sinks a little more into lust with every second, feels more drunk and insane with every touch of him against her, she feels that she has to be the sensible person here, the voice of logic and reason, and stop him before he does something he will regret for the rest of his life. She breaks their kiss and covers his mouth with a hand. He tries to swipe it away but this time she finds her voice and manages to whimper, "Stop!"

He does, instantly. He looks shocked, stunned even, his hair wild, his face flushed, his lips swollen. "Wait," she whispers. The air between them seems to crackle with the insane mix of grief and lust, pain and desire, a knife edge cutting into them both at once. Before she can speak again, though, their eyes lock on and whatever it is that has been hanging in the air between them for seven years just breaks with the strain. She feels completely without control, without reason: as if this has always been inevitable. He, too, has rediscovered his voice, and manages to whisper against her.

"Scully, I just. Need to feel. Help me feel."

And then they are gone: there is no hope for them any more. He is driving himself against her with such force that the bed wobbles and the hinges groan. He somehow loses his pants, and rips hers off; his shaking, clammy hand shoves her panties to one side and then he pushes his cock into her and oh, my god, she cries out at the sensation of it, can barely stand it, and then he starts moving with a sloppy, uncoordinated, desperate recklessness but she doesn't even care because he is humming all over and she can feel him everywhere and he comes quickly, pumping crazily, falling atop her, letting out a sigh, and then, he is asleep.

She lays in the dark for what seems forever.

His body grows heavy upon her, but cools as the grief and pain subsides and he is peaceful. He breathes slowly. She feels his pulse in his throat, as it presses against her left shoulder. She is still wearing her shirt and bra, and the underwire digs painfully into her chest. She listens to the ticking of an unseen clock; hears feint sounds from the hall of people going about their lives. They walk by Mulder's apartment with no idea of what is passing within, a monumental moment in two people's lives, a strange, beautiful mixture of pain and love and lust and conflicting emotions all at once. Seven years seem to have led her to this moment: she wonders how many times she imagined being here, and wonders at how she had never pictured it like this. Nobody would. She looks down at him, sleeping, and feels so terribly sad for this poor man, who has lost his sister, his father, now his mother, and can't fathom why this all had to happen to him.

He stirs.

He blinks, once, twice. His eyes open. He takes a long breath in. He slowly lifts himself up onto his knees. He looks at her.

"Are you ok?" She asks, although there is really no answer to that question.

He nods, then climbs slowly off of the bed. He goes to the bathroom and closes the door and is gone for what seems like an age but is probably just minutes. He emerges smelling of toothpaste. She can't help but smile slightly, that somehow in the depths of everything happening around them, Mulder felt that cleaning his teeth was the best thing to do.

He sits down slowly beside her, and she reaches to the end of the bed and pulls the blanket up to cover both their shoulders. They sit together in silence for some time.

As the night stretches out, the pain slowly settles on him again, and he weeps. She holds him until he sleeps. After some time he wakes, weeps and the circle repeats. She holds his hand, wipes his tears from his face, gently kisses him, mumbles soothing nonsense when he is hanging on by a thread. The bedroom is a bubble of pain that they are floating in, detached from everything else in the world, and its dark shapes comfort her in those quiet moments when he is peaceful beside her, his arms wrapped tightly around her as if she were his talisman against the night.

She watches the sun slowly rise behind the blinds, a new day, bright and filled with possibility. She knows that more difficult times lay ahead, too, and hopes he can sleep some more before he has to face it. She wonders what will happen now, both to him, and with them. She hopes - she wants to believe - that they can both survive whatever this new dawn will bring.


End file.
